Man with the golden thumb

August 12, 2008 — 10.00am

MICHAEL NUCK holds $1000 worth of saffron in the palms of his hands. The dried stigma of an autumn-flowering crocus, it is the most labour-intensive food product in the world. More than 150,000 flowers need to be hand-picked to make just one kilogram of dried saffron and every single one has to be delicately harvested. About $35,000 a kilogram, saffron is marginally more expensive than gold.

With so much at stake, it is no wonder Nuck's saffron plantation is in an undisclosed location, a small farm surrounded by forest on the outskirts of Stanley in Victoria's north-east. The dried saffron is secured in a safe; the plantation protected by a live-in security guard and dog.

At least that's what Nuck jokingly tries to convince me to write as we drive up the bone-shattering track to his place. The security guard turns out to be Barry, a mate staying in a caravan and helping with the harvest.

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The guard dog is a Jack Russell, more interested in chasing bush rats than saffron burglars. The safe is a jar in a box. The location is undisclosed because the sign to the farm has fallen off. Things are pretty laid-back in Stanley.

It's early morning in late autumn and the sun is barely making it over the top of the towering eucalypts next door. Beyond them, Korean workers are harvesting the season's chestnut crop. On the side of a steepish hill, tiny, mauve, spear-like flowers break through the soil.

Barry and Nuck work silently, picking the flowers and carefully dropping them into a cloth bag - one by one - racing against the sun. Once the sun warms the flowers they will unfurl and lose their aroma and potency.

Stanley, as with most of the elevated regions of southern Australia, has dry, hot summers and cold winters that emulate saffron's original habitat in south-west Asia.

Iran, the most prolific saffron-growing nation, produces nearly 300 tonnes a year. Australia's saffron industry is minute in comparison: just 50 or so growers are registered with Australia's largest saffron company, producing 10 kilograms annually. Tas-Saf started the saffron industry in Australia about 10 years ago in Tasmania.

Back in Stanley a fat moon rises in a cold night sky. Inside Nuck's farm shed, the warm air is filled with the intense smell of drying saffron. It is sweet, dark and rich, like iodine mixed with fragrant honey.

The extended family gathers at a small table by a log fire. With her forefinger and thumb acting like pincers, Nuck's Aunty Carmen painstakingly removes the three deep-red stigma from the centre of each flower. Nuck's wife, Annette, keeps an eagle eye on the nephews working nearby to make sure no other parts of the flower contaminate the crop.

The stamens are laid out on a tray and placed inside the dryer, which gently dries them for less than 30 minutes. From his 300,000 bulbs. Nuck will produce one kilogram of saffron. "Luckily the bulbs flower just 30 days a year," Aunty Carmen says. "As much as we love Michael," she says with a wicked grin, "this is bloody tiring work."

Saffron's price may be astronomical but Nuck is the first to admit that his small operation will never earn him a new Bentley. Later that night, he treats his hard-working saffron pickers to a night out at the Stanley Pub.

Saffron has brought a new kind of excitement to this old goldmining town with the pub getting right behind the new saffron rush. It not only sells Nuck's Stanley Saffron but also keeps some sort of saffron dish on the menu, such as mussels in white wine and saffron. Nuck's cousin, chef Becky Goonan, has prepared a three-course meal: saffron-laced bouillabaisse, saffron-infused couscous supporting spiced lamb backstraps and some fat pears poached in saffron with a scoop of Gundowering honey and walnut ice-cream.

Stanley Saffron, as with much Australian saffron, is very fresh and is extremely aromatic. Its honey-like aroma is not quite matched by its flavour and it doesn't have the same strong cut-through-everything-else quality some imported saffrons have. What makes it so attractive, however, is a rich colour that permeates the dish before your eyes like a wonderful high-school science experiment.

Outside the pub, two cars stop in the main street for a conversation held through open windows. It's that sort of town. Nuck concludes a deal with a relative to plant some saffron for next year.

Price isn't discussed and probably won't be. In Stanley, saffron is not an exclusive spice. It's more an excuse to socialise.